Shade of Gray
by masqueradingHEART
Summary: … And don’t leave your dirty socks on the floor anymore. They stink; really, I mean it, they do.


**Disclaimer! **I love JKR and don't want to have her hate me. So, I do not own her Harry Potter series and the characters and events involved. I am merely a teenage girl sitting at home and writing crappy fanfic.

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_… And don't leave your dirty socks on the floor anymore. They stink; really, I mean it, they do._

Walking into the drawing room, he flicked the light switch on. As the lights flickered on, he took a long hard look around the room. The table sat as it always had, the pictures hung on the walls in their frames. Everything looked the same as he had left it, but everything felt entirely different. This wasn't the room he had previously resided in just six mere hours ago.

The house was quiet. No one was home; they'd left hours ago to some party, or someplace entirely different. The house elf was home, but he didn't count much. Kreacher would stay away and mind his own business. All other rooms were dark in the house but the drawing room.

The room was spotless. Kreacher made a perfect point to clean up after the small family. The small family whose numbers were decreasing rapidly now.

In the hall, the large, expensive, fashionably adorned grandfather clock struck two.

Dinner was over; it had been for over a half an hour now. The rather small family was gathered in the drawing room for a bonding time over tea. It was silent among the three and one was not present. He'd been sent away at dinner, nothing that was uncommon, and had been called for shortly after the dishes had been cleared, but had not been heard of as of yet. His parents were getting antsy as they awaited their eldest son's arrival to the daily family meeting.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to these gatherings. The four members, and more often than one might assume other house guests and relatives would join them, would meet every evening after supper was done and gone with. After all the over-cooked, bitter food was force-swallowed and the half-covered plates were cleared from the table, the Black family would retreat to either the drawing room or the parlor for a nice, peaceful family talk.

But it seemed as if, especially as of late, these meetings were never quite so nice or peaceful. They were filled with shouts of anger and accusations. The tension in the air was always so thick you couldn't even cut it with the sharpest knife. The family was not quite up to their game lately. And tonight, things were beginning to become even worse.

Regulus Black, the younger of the two sons, leaned against a windowsill overlooking the neighborhood. But no one could see inside of the window, for to their eyes, the house did not exist. He had a cup of tea in his hand but he didn't like tea so he barely even sipped at it. He could feel his mother shooting him glares every few seconds, as if it was his not liking tea that caused his irresponsible and rebellious older brother to disobey the family rules. How a distaste for a beverage could lead to such acts was far beyond Regulus' knowledge.

"Kreacher!" His mother called, for what seemed to be the seventeenth time in the past five minutes. The small, ugly house elf scurried in, eyes downcast, and came to the foot of the chair in which the woman was resting in.

"Yes, Mistress?" The nervous, quite frightening to some, thing replied obediently – much like a son that Wallburga would have much wished for than the ungrateful elder one she had given birth to.

The aging woman set her cup onto its saucer delicately, an adjective not often applied to a woman such as Wallburga Black, and commanded the elf. "Go off and fetch my son, would you? It is getting rather late and we have much to discuss this evening." Her tone reflected much more of her personality than would her setting of her tea cup on its saucer. She adored, somewhat anyway, the house elf, but she could never get any sort of pleasurable tone in her voice for as long as she had lived.

Kreacher bowed off and hurried out of the room, to try for the umpteenth time to do his bidding, only to come back less than a minute later with dismal news to report back. "It seems as if young Master Black will not come down from his chamber, Mistress." He said, head turned downwards again as he fingered a shoe he held in his hands – most likely a present from the oldest Black son and most likely thrown at the elf in attempt to get him away.

Regulus snorted to himself, though not aloud – never out loud! – as Kreacher ducked out of the room. But the smirk he had acquired and masterfully hidden disappeared as his father stood up, rather angrily. Orion Black was not a pleasant man. He was bitter and rude and cruel and crude and so… _black_ inside. There was no happy bone in him; the man had no funny bone. No matter what anyone did, it was never good enough for Orion Black. So when something was done in a way that was known to be all wrong, one could only imagine what harm would be done to them.

"Forget it. I will get him myself," the man said roughly as exited the room, not even bothering to set his glass of wine – for Orion Black rarely ever drank anything less – down. Some heavy footsteps, muffled shouting, and some more footsteps later, Sirius Black appeared with his father hot on his heels. The boy had a look mixed of anger and shame. Not shame of himself, however; but shame of the world in which he inhabited.

"Nice of you to join us, Sirius," Wallburga spat out rather rudely as her husband took back his post on the couch. "Now sit," she added, gesturing to where his father was sitting as Kreacher hurried in to try and pour a cup of tea for him, which he denied quickly.

Stealing a glance at his naturally furious father, Sirius shook his head slightly. "I'll stand," he replied shortly. For a man who dares sit next to a fuming – more than normal, anyway – Orion Black is a very brave man indeed. And, although Sirius prides himself in being quite courageous, he had yet to find someone who was so brave as to do so.

"Very well," his mother answered, setting her cup and saucer down on the small table beside her. "Now, son, we have called you down here this evening," she started, putting emphasize on the 'called you', "to run a proposition past you. And before you say 'no' and jump to conclusions, hear us out."

"The Dark Lord is a very strong and rising power, Sirius," Orion took over and immediately Sirius crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "The more that follow him, the less that get hurt. And isn't that what you're for? Less injuries and deaths? Anyway, it would be in your best interest if you took up a role in his army. Become a Death Eater, boy, and your whole life will be set in stone. You'll be safe and alive; but, more importantly, you'll be instilling pride back into your family name – which, might I say, you've disgraced far too much as it is."

Sirius snorted, a bold move indeed. "I have no intention in joining a cause I do not believe in, _Father_," he responded shortly, giving a slight roll of the eyes.

Orion stood again, casting away his tea. Allowing a deep sigh to escape him, he stopped himself from shouting. "Well, I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter. The Dark Lord will no doubt be expecting you to join in his legion! And I will not have any child of mine disobeying me in one more way!"

"So let the _Dark Lord_'s expectations falter! You can not control me."

Orion crossed the room in just two long strides. He grabbed hold of his oldest son's shirt and shoved his back up against the wall. "You do not know how to control yourself," he spat out, a mumble that only Sirius and Regulus – and the latter because he was standing not three feet away – could hear.

Kreacher lurked in the doorway, just a yard away.

"All that you know how to do is goof off and make a mockery out of yourself and this family," Orion continued. "Well, boy, you're sixteen years old and I will not have this any longer. If you think you are so ready to go out into this world, face the strongest power the Wizarding World has ever faced, and live to tell the tale, then think again." Ending his short speech, he dropped his hands down from his son's now wrinkled shirt. "You have a lot to learn about life, Sirius."

Sirius shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "I know a lot more about life than you think I do, Father," Sirius began his response. "I know that I'm not going to be a coward who hides behind his family name and a dark lord. I'm not like you."

A sharp blow to the side of his head was expected. And that was exactly what he found himself gaining as he felt his head whip to one side and his legs stagger just a small amount. He didn't lift a hand to his cheek, although it stung like hell from the backhanded slap his father had given him. Wallburga rolled her darkened gray eyes, but just at her son's rebellious ways; they were simply just becoming a nuisance now. Regulus allowed his tainted gray eyes to fall to the floor, not wanting to see the rest of this fight; he'd had enough of them anyway. Orion's own gray eyes were seemingly gaining a red flare to them; fire burning in rage.

Kreacher lurked in the doorway, just a yard away. A smirk found its way onto his lips as he hid in the gray of the shadows.

"I am sick of you and your mouth, boy." Orion snarled, pointing an angry finger at his son with one hand before gripping Sirius' chin with the other and forcing the boy to look him in the face. Sirius kept his eyes locked with his father's. He refused to show fear; refused to show anger. "You do as I tell you or so help me I will disown you from this family."

Sirius merely gave his father a look of challenge. "So do it. Disown me. See if I even care," he said through gritted teeth.

Orion gripped his chin harder with his fingers. "You wouldn't last one day out in the real world without our money to support you. This time, next week, you'd be crawling back at our doorstep." He dropped his son's chin with unneeded force, causing Sirius to drop his head for just a brief moment as his father turned away. "Now, go upstairs. I'll arrange a meeting with Lucius Malfoy and get your arrangement with the Dark Lord settled. And," he added as Sirius began to open his mouth to retaliate, "I won't hear one more word about it."

Sirius, now banished from the drawing room, exited, kicking Kreacher out of his way with his shoe and muttering under his breath.

Regulus lifted his eyes from the floor. His father was pacing the room, stressed and heated. His mother remained in her seat, merely sipping her tea as if this was a regular night for the Black family.

The sad thing was, however, it was.

In the hallway, the family's ancient and expensive grandfather clock struck eight.

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Okay, so this is going to be a short story, probably ranging from 5-10 chapters. So, I'll update as soon as I can and if you really want to get me writing faster, review. :


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